


When Medicine Fails, Science Prevails

by JeromeSankara



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Hurt Stephen Strange, IronStrange Bingo 2019, IronStrange Week 2019, M/M, Tony Stark Does What He Wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:26:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: One fateful night, one look down to his phone, one text not sent. That's all it took for Stephen Strange to lose everything. His work, his hands, life as he knew it. But Tony Stark refuses to give up on him, not now, not ever. Tony also doesn't know what can be too much.Prompts:IronStrange Week - Bedside VigilIronstrange Bingo - Bedside VigilBad Things Happen - Hospital Stay





	1. The Night

It was just like Nicodemus West to make him late to the American Neurological Association dinner by having to save his patient. Here Stephen would have wished to arrive early to chat with his colleagues, some of the only people he can carry an  _ intelligent  _ conversation with, but now he would be lucky to even make it to the first course of the meal.

Stephen grumbled to himself as he passed another car, barely giving it a single flash of his turn signal for its troubles. His eyes kept darting down to the dashboard, watching the destination time tick back minute by minute.

_ "Sir, your speed is currently 57 miles per hour over the limit, I would suggest-" _

"Can it, T.A.D.A.S.H.I," Stephen groaned, rubbing his hand against his temple. He appreciated the A.I. that his boyfriend had gifted him, he really did, but sometimes it seemed a bit too uptight. Always waiting for Stephen to make a wrong move to tattle to Tony. Though Tony also made sure that Stephen couldn't get too terribly upset at the A.I.

After all, who can stay mad at something that sounds like Baymax?

The A.I. fell silent, his phone screen going blank as it was holstered right beside him. Two more passed cars later, he spoke back up in his quiet, gentle robotic tone.  _ "You have one message from Mr. Stark,"  _ he reported.

"Read it."

_ "I think I'd rather have all your surgeon buddies give me a lobotomy than keep dealing with this shit." _

Stephen chuckled under his breath. Poor Tony was stuck at another long meeting at SI, leaving Stephen without a date and Tony without his sanity. Perhaps once Stephen came back home, he could help coax it back by making his mind turn to mush.

"Reply with, I'll do more than pick your brain tonight."

_ "Sending message; 'I'll do more than pick your brain tonight.'" _

At least the A.I. was useful for something. Tony had given him the A.I. on their fourth anniversary two months ago, making absolutely sure that he would use it. He had it installed into his car, his phone, even his pager for the hospital. That may have been slightly illegal, but he would rather be alerted to his cases by a calm voice already describing the injury than a shrill beeping and a line of text.

The rain beat against the windshield, quickly wiped away with every swipe of his wipers. It was incredibly dark tonight, the moon hidden behind an endless sea of rumbling storms. Stephen reminded himself to make sure he took Tony down to the workshop when he came home. At least there the thunder and lightening can't reach them. Tony may never admit it, but it made his already fragile composure slip.

Which reminded him about one other thing. Something Stephen had been meaning to bring up one more time, a topic easier to approach by text than face to face. His hands tensed on the steering wheel and he passed another car.

"T.A.D.A.S.H.I., send a text to Tony."

_ "Awaiting instructions." _

Stephen forced his hands to relax again, knowing that being nervous would be no help. "I can ask Dr. Chiaki for her cardiovascular knowledge and assistance."

That was the subject that was so hard to touch. The arc reactor. Even now, Stephen knew that even with it no longer poisoning his body, the reactor still brought pain to every waking moment of Tony's life. In the way he breathed, in the way he avoided certain touch, in the way his fingers would scrape at it whenever his panic rose too high… Tony did not need to suffer.

Yet he was still fighting against modern medicine.

If there was anyone who could help, it had to be Stephen. The _ only  _ person who could help, honestly. With his steady hands that are already use to such pinpoint accuracy, and a little help from some of the brilliant minds in the medical field, Tony can be free of that reactor and on his way to proper rehabilitation. Instead, he saw his reactor as simply a reminder of who he was and what he fought against.

That's all well and good, but it could do all that from the  _ outside  _ of Tony's body.

_ "Sending message, 'I can ask Dr. Chiaki for her cardiovascular knowledge and assistance.'" _

Sometimes it got on Stephen's steel nerves how the A.I. was hellbent on repeating every command he gave it. But he didn't have long to ponder the idea of turning that functionality off when T.A.D.A.S.H.I. replied moments later.

_ "Mr. Stark replied; 'We're not talking about this.'" _

Of course. Every time Stephen tried to approach the topic, he was shut down relentlessly. But Stephen wasn't going to have it this time.

"Reply with, she's the best in her field for a reason and you know that shit's going to get you killed one of these days."

_ "Replying with; 'She is the best in her field and I would appreciate-'" _

"Hey, what I'd tell you about that?" Stephen snapped, glaring down at his phone and the words that were appearing on the screen. "Don't edit me. Reply."

_ "'She is the best in her field for a reason and with your current medical-'" _

"God dammit," Stephen growled through the mechanical words before he pulled the phone out of its holder. "Fine, I’ll do it myself," he scowled and winced at the bright screen of his phone.

_ 'Shes the best in her field-' _

_ "Sir, I would advise-" _

"Quiet," he grunted, focusing on the words while struggling to type with one hand. He had to ask Tony to figure out some way to text easier with just one hand. He paused when a reply came across the screen.

_ <3PITADouchebag<3: I'm turning off my phone, not dealing with this. _

Shit. Gritting his teeth together, he dropped his other hand down from the wheel. 

_ 'for a reason and you know that shits-' _

_ "Sir!" _

"What?!" Stephen snapped, but the word died in his throat as he looked up from the phone. 

Bright white headlights engulfed his car, and his body seized up. The blasting horn came a split second too late, as when Stephen reached to grab onto the wheel, it was already turning without his consent. The only problem was that T.A.D.A.S.H.I. was sending the car straight to the left, where the oncoming car was veering into.

Stephen's hands grabbed hard onto the wheel and turned with all he had, and while he managed to yank the wheel back, it did nothing but send him careening into the stone cliff on the right, only to bounce him back hard to the left.

Momentum worked against him as the car crashed through the barricade with almost no resistance, slamming end over end, against trees and stone. The last thought that Stephen had as he saw the cliffside rushing to meet him was that he hoped Tony would forgive him.

Powerlines sparked as they so graciously slowed the fall, sending a current through the car before they too snapped away. In the end, the only barrier that kept Stephen from being submerged into the body of water mere feet away was a tall chain linked fence.

It creaked loudly under the weight, leaving the car suspended upside down. The headlights flickered once, then died out, leaving him only in darkness.

9 _:39PM_

_ "Atte-... Heart rate l-... Power surge-" _

_ 10:21PM _

_ "Reboot stalled, hardwa-" _

_ 11:05PM _

_ "Emerge-... Unabl-" _

* * *

There was something wrong.

Tony could feel it like a shudder down his spine, like those spidey senses Peter would never stop going on about. The meeting surrounding him, something about all the analytics that he technically had to sit through, became nothing more than white noise as he looked up at the clock.

Stephen's dinner was halfway over and yet he had heard nothing. Sure, Tony kinda killed the conversation, but Stephen should know better. That arc reactor wasn't going anywhere and even "Mr. Doctor Professor Strange" wasn't going to do much more than kill him faster.

Why was it so hard for his boyfriend to give up?

Tony reached into his pocket and slid his phone out, keeping it just out of sight and under the table. No reply. He knew that Stephen was heading to a bit of a remote part in the mountains but like hell would that affect the signal on a Starkphone. Especially Stephen's. Hell, he could go to Everest and probably still have signal. So maybe Stephen was ignoring him instead.

Super mature. Pot, meet Kettle, he supposed.

But with every second that passed and Tony's eyes drifting between the phone and the clock, his chest ached. Not its normal ache either. Like someone was reaching down his throat and tearing his lungs out that way.

"Put a pin in this," Tony grunted, standing up from his seat and already reaching for his glasses. The door was barely able to swing behind him before he pulled F.R.I.D.A.Y. to attention.

"Alright baby girl, I need you to locate T.A.D.A.S.H.I."

Stephen hated it when Tony did this, but it was for his own peace of mind. It wasn't  _ exactly  _ a tracker, just-

_ "Sir, T.A.D.A.S.H.I. appears to be out of service." _

Another pull at his lungs. "Give me his feed."

_ "Of course." _

Text and codes filled the screen, before the pull turned into a yank.

_ Power surge _

_ System overloaded _

_ Rebooting _

_ Reboot failed _

_ Distress signal failed _

_ Distress signal failed _

_ Vitals low _

_ Distress signal failed _

_ Rebooting _

_ Reboot failed _

_ Rebooting _

_ Reboot failed _

_ Unable to connect _

_ Power low _

_ Power low _

_ Powering down _

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me last known location!" Tony yelled, already throwing off his suit coat and reaching for his reactor. With a single press, the familiar red and gold suit encased his body all without missing stride.

_ "Pinpointing,"  _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said smoothly, and a map began to pixilate to life on one side of the helmet display. The last time the phone pinged seemed to be…

Too far away from where the fancy dinner had been taking place. Still on the road. An image of twisted black metal and blood seeping out to join the oil rooted into Tony's mind, far too powerful to chase away.

Stephen never made it to the dinner. His last text had been hours ago. He could be far too late-

No, he can't be. He  _ refused. _ Without a second of warning, Tony veered and powered on the boosters, smashing through a window and into the dark sky. Rain was still pouring down, but everything disappeared except for that blinking dot on the map.

Hang on, Steph. Just hang on.

In the thirteen minutes and twenty eight seconds of flight, Tony's mind taunted him with the last words that he had sent without thought, if just to silence a conversation he refused to have, that he's refused since that reactor lodged into his chest so long ago.

I'm turning my phone off.

Not dealing with this.

He had met Stephen momentarily before he was out the door for his special dinner and Tony to his meeting. Stephen just grumbled about cleaning up after other people's medical messes and Tony only offered a fleeing kiss on the cheek before heading to his meeting. Precious few seconds.

The seconds they spent may be the seconds it took for Stephen to die. Precious seconds.

As soon as Tony arrived at the location, he started searching. It would be far too easy to be at the exact ping, and as the seconds ticked by, that yank was turned into all out ripping. Scooping inside his chest and turning everything inside to bleeding ribbons.

No, calm down! This wasn't the time!

He traveled up the road, and he was beginning to think that there must be some sort of error until he caught the broken barricade. The tearing in his chest turned into a cold, brittle knife twisting within him. His heart pounded against the blade as he followed the broken branches and the path carved into the dirt and stone. 

Pieces of metal were slick with rain water and caught the blue light of his reactor. They guided his way down the rocky slope, and in a moment of odd clarity, Tony realized how silent it was. No animals. No blowing wind. Or maybe it was his shattered mind already shutting down on him again.

Because at the bottom of the slope, partially submerged within the dark waters, were the twisted remains of Stephen's Lamborghini. In the back of his mind, Tony was going wild over the fact that this should not have happened. He had made the car practically bulletproof, used some of the strongest materials known to man, made sure T.A.D.A.S.H.I. could have full control in an emergency… There were millions of reasons to why this should not be possible.

_ "Sir, I detect a heartbeat," _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. calmly spoke through his helmet, shaking Tony back into his personal hell.  _ "Front driver's seat. The airbag was deployed." _

Still alive. Stephen was still alive. But every microsecond he spent staring at it was one more microsecond closer to Stephen's death.

"Contact Metro-General," Tony ordered, the familiar urge for control flooding through his veins. He could do this. He'd saved thousands of lives before. He can save Stephen. "Get me a doctor on the line, I don't care which,  _ now." _

_ "Contacting." _

Tony swept around to the other side of the car, trying to ignore the water that had already submerged the engine and halfway to the front seat. "Light," he ordered, and a panel opened up on his shoulder and shined a beam onto the car.

Inside the twisted black metal, he caught a glimpse of pale skin.

_ "Metro-General, this is Christine." _

Christine. He knew her. Stephen talked about her at length, sometimes good sometimes bad depending on if she agreed with what Stephen had to say.

"Christine, Tony Stark. I need you to get a bed ready ASAP. F.R.I.D.A.Y., give her the details."

_ "Wait, who-" _

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was kind enough to cut her off before questions could waste any more time. Her calm voice became just a gurgle in the background as Tony dove in closer and tried to find the easiest way into the car.

He had done too good of a job protecting the internal cage. It practically sealed Stephen into the car with only the smallest of glimpses inside. What he did manage to see was not good. Stephen was upside down, the seatbelts the only thing keeping him from dropping into the water just inches from his head. His face was swollen and covered in blood, small drips rolling down into the water below. And he was unconscious.

"Stephie, I'm getting you out," Tony rasped, closing the face shield again. Inside the helmet, schematics of the human body were popping up, with F.R.I.D.A.Y. doing his noble best to scan any injuries in sight. Tony tried his best to ignore the amount of red appearing on the hologram, splotching across the head and moving down to the chest.

_ "Analysis; probable concussion, unconscious, unresponsive to sound-" _

Tony blocked out the voice of his A.I. the best he could. He could trick himself into believing that everything was fine. Stephen just hit his head, that was it. Had to be. Lost consciousness from being upside down. Once he got him out…

Grabbing onto the doorframe, Tony pushed apart the metal, only to stop when the entire car groaned against the fence. Shit, he had to do it slow. If the fence gave out, the car would go underwater. Sure, he could just move the car but moving Stephen… All he could think about was if Stephen broke his neck. If one small movement will kill him.

If Tony would kill Stephen while trying to save his life.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony adjusted his grip and pushed again. The sound was a kin to fingernails scraping against chalkboards, the screeching of metal the only thing he could hear other than the low chatter on the coms. Christine was still talking, F.R.I.D.A.Y. still giving information, the same information Tony will not allow himself to hear.

Stephen was going to be fine.

Finally, Tony managed to pry past the solid remains of the drivers side, and more of Stephen came into view.

His white shirt beneath his tux was stained with blood, and Tony immediately found the source.

_ "Dr. Strange has suffered a punctured left lung caused by shrapnel still embedded, awaiting instructions." _

The soft voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y was detached from what Tony saw before him, unable to quell the frenzy in his mind. It was some piece of wood that had speared through the windshield somewhere during the crash, a little less than an inch in diameter. Tony may not be a doctor like Stephen, but even he knew not to mess with it.

"Baby girl, give me some more light," Tony breathed, and the beam of light brightened. It illuminated the inside of the car and Tony resumed his evaluation. He couldn't tell if Stephen's legs were broken, not by this angle, but bloodloss wasn't a large factor. Not yet, anyway. The damage could be just beneath the surface.

_ "I'm sending the helicopter to your location, is he reacting to light?" _

Brain injury, Tony realized. Even if he wasn't reacting to sound, the eyes should still react. Tony shoved his way into the car and reached out, just barely touching Stephen's face. A sensor popped up on the screen, detecting the temperature. A few degrees below normal, yet he wasn't shivering. "Hang tight, baby," Tony whispered, and finally opened Stephen's eyelid.

Tony couldn't remember a time he felt so relieved to see Stephen's gray-blue eyes, especially as they reacted to the beam of light. Good. They were getting somewhere.

"I got a reaction. I can carry him, it'll be quick-"

_ "No! If his neck is broken-" _

Shit, of course. "Then get that fucking chopper here!" Tony snapped before he could insult his own intelligence anymore.

_ "It's already on the way. It'll take time with the rain." _

Tony gritted his teeth together and gave himself a quick shake. Then he needed to focus on cutting Stephen out.

It took more mental will than anything else for Tony to pull himself out of the car again, but he soon held out his hand and started to cut through the metal with a beam. It was painfully slow, and his eyes kept flicking back up to Stephen, being all too still. With every piece that was stripped away, he found more and more of Stephen.

The expensive leather seats were damp with blood, the deflated airbag streaked with the same liquid. But it wasn't a bloodbath. This was survivable, Tony told himself. Stephen would survive this, if only to let Tony chew his ass out for scaring him like this.

Then Tony glanced down to the image F.R.I.D.A.Y still had up on the inside of the helmet. She was still scanning Stephen's injuries. Bruised and cracked ribs, the possibility of internal bleeding… But there was something else.

The body scan had the hands covered in red, with small lines of text.

A cold chill rippled through him, and he darted back forward. No, that had to be wrong. There was no way. F.R.I.D.A.Y's scanners had to be wrong. Tony's suited hands touched Stephen's shoulder first, then followed his arms. The black tux had hidden it so well, as if they had disappeared. But where the arms ended…

His hands.

Caught and crushed beneath the dashboard, blood still draining out of cracks and crevasses. The entire dash had folded in around them, and all Tony could see was his forearm disappearing within the mass of twisted metal, broken plastic and shards of glass.

At first, Tony thought they had been dismembered from the rest of the arm. Maybe that would have been easier than realizing that they instead anchored Stephen into the wreck. He would not be moved unless…

"I'm sorry, baby," Tony breathed before his mind shut down to everything except the mass of car trapping his boyfriend. He worked his fingers into cracks and pulled, tearing off chunks.

Every piece that Tony stripped away just showed more blood. More skin. More damage. But he had to free Stephen. Had to get him to the hospital. That's all that mattered now. The rest could wait. Had to wait.

The beats of the helicopter propellers had never been more welcomed, as was the spotlight shined down upon them. F.R.I.D.A.Y had done her duty and brought help.

Unable to look at the schematics of Stephen's broken body any longer, Tony opened the faceplate. "They're here, Stephie, you're going to be fine," Tony spoke to Stephen's unconscious form, and he only continued to strip away the car. "We're going to be fine."

Those were the words that Tony repeated endlessly, even as paramedics took over and extracted Stephen out of the wreck. Even when his hands were scarcely more than shredded and swollen meat, even as Tony followed the helicopter to the hospital, Tony knew everything would be fine. Had to be.

It can't end like this.

* * *

Twelve excruciating hours of waiting. Eleven hours of surgery. Three refills of a coffee pot. Two shifts changes of nurses. And one ragged Tony.

There was only so much Tony could do in a waiting room. He had F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up old projects to fiddle with as he waited, but within minutes, his focus would slip. He started outlining a proper recovery room for Stephen in the penthouse, because he was sure Stephen would not care to be seen by his own hospital staff in this condition. Anything to make Stephen more comfortable.

This was all assuming that Stephen would come out right as rain, of course. Tony knew better. He'd seen enough injuries in his time to know that this was not something  _ anyone  _ could bounce back from.

The image of his mangled hands kept blocking his focus, of the skin that got caught between the layers of car Tony tore away. Of his hands balled up into fists and flattened, giving the appearance of just a ball of flesh and bone. If they could save his hands at all, it would be a miracle.

Tony wasn't one who believed in miracles but this seemed about as good a place to start as any. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t prepare the worst case scenario.

Tony’s eyes burned as they stared at the schematics and blueprints hovering in front of him, dragging his fingers across the panels. He would need to get a proper mold, and then he needed to get the best neurologist he could find. Well… the second best neurologist. He swallowed, then shook himself. No, this was what he was here for. He would make everything right again. Fix Stephen.

Ugly turquoise scrubs invaded his vision, and Tony swiped away the blueprints back into the Starkphone. No one needed to see this. Especially not the doctors. Tony looked up, blinking against the harsh hospital lights as one of the doctors met his eyes. Christine, he realized. He had barely met her in person, maybe once or twice, and he barely recognized her now. Maybe that was through the dark circles under her eyes, her drained appearance, and almost clammy skin.

Tony swallowed down his heart and ignored how the arc reactor ached with the familiar tightness. He followed her out of the nurses’ office, since it would have caused a bit of a commotion if Tony Stark of all people was seen just sitting in an emergency waiting room. The small walk was torture, constantly dodging rushing nurses and doctors, and the stench of disinfectant and death had taken root in Tony’s lungs.

There were many reasons to why Tony didn’t care to visit Stephen while he was working at the hospital. These were only a few. Maybe one day he will walk into a hospital and not walk back out.

He shook himself out of his rising panic and tried to even out his breaths, but they only brought in more and more of that smell. Tony may have been just two breaths away from full blown panic had it not been for the sudden stop outside a room. A glass panel separated them, the curtains firmly pulled shut. Whatever laid on the other side was not to be seen by casual passersby. Christine said nothing, only swiped her card to the electronic lock on the door. It beeped her a welcome and opened a crack. She simply pulled the door open and stepped back, motioning for Tony to walk inside.

His throat was too thick to swallow through, let alone speak. All Tony could do was nod and take those few steps that separated him from Stephen. But he barely made it through the doorway before his steps faltered, and all he could do was stare.

Stephen was laid out in a bed that seemed too big, suffocating him into bleach white blankets where his pale skin blended in too well. The first thing that brought his attention was his face. The dark, purple bruises that stained him, swelling his face to where Tony may not have recognized him at first had he just randomly walked into the room. His eyes were almost swollen shut, cuts lacing across his temple and cheek, all stitched shut. But Tony already knew that these were mere flesh wounds, Stephen would recover from this.

What he wouldn’t recover from so easy was stretched out above the blankets, hung from a rig connected to the ceiling. The light, even if dimmed, glimmered off steel lines that followed Stephen’s once soft and slender fingers, bars disappearing below a wave of stitching, and ran down to his wrists, only stopping at heavy white casts. They locked his arms in place, to whatever damage may have come to the rest of his limbs, but Tony couldn’t take his eyes off of Stephen’s hands.

“Eleven… stainless steel pins in the bones. Multiple torn ligaments. Severe nerve damage in both hands.”

It was like she was reading a chart. Maybe she was, Tony couldn’t turn his head to look back. Other words echoed in the room, broken bones, internal bleeding and bruising, but Tony heard nothing. For the first time in hours, days,  _ weeks _ , his thoughts had gone silent. Schematics and plans disappeared like the air in his lungs, into nothingness. All that occupied his mind was the fact that Stephen laid before him, broken. Damaged.

He didn’t know how he made it to the bedside, all he knew was that he instinctively reached for Stephen’s hand. A quick grab to his wrist stopped him before he could disturb the metal pins that stuck out of his boyfriend’s hands. So instead he let his hand trail down to touch Stephen’s cheek, just barely. Just enough to feel the warmth beneath his fingertips, to confirm that Stephen was really here.

But Stephen was broken. That thought wouldn’t leave as Tony stumbled into the chair, blankly staring at Stephen’s motionless body. He would have to tell him, Tony realized. Tell him that his hands were ruined. That he could no longer operate. That the foundation of his life had been taken away from him.

...But what if he didn’t have to?

Tony’s external silence hid the sudden ignition in his mind, and the mental schematics emerged again. This wouldn’t be the end, Tony vowed to himself. No matter what, he was going to find a way.

The only way he knew.


	2. Picking up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony knew that Stephen would be stubborn. But enough is enough. It's time to heal, even if they have to rebreak the injury to let it heal right this time.
> 
> This was the only way.

“You’ve ruined me.”

Tony had seen many sides of Stephen Strange. He’d like to say that most of the sides were good, but maybe it was because Stephen was an expert at hiding the worst, or maybe Tony was just an expert at ignoring them. He’d seen some of the worst through frustration over his studies, the exhaustion of more than twenty-four hours of surgery, and the familiar yet quiet loneliness over a broken home.

But the way Stephen’s eyes hardened to chips of ice, with a stare so sharp that Nicodemus was lucky to still be standing… Tony had never seen that side. He also never wished to see it again, if just by the chill that ran through his bones. It left him frozen in his chair right beside the bed, hand half extended to touch Stephen, just to let him know that he was here, ready to help, but this… fury.

“Steph-” Tony began, only for the words to catch hard in his throat. What was he going to say? Everything will be fine? They were the words that have been constantly thrown across this room, when the rigs holding his hands in place were finally removed, when the bandages were changed and the aches would never leave. All Tony could do was sit by his bed and tell him one more time that everything was going to be alright. They would find a way.

What way was there? Yes, Stephen had already begun ordering doctors and surgeons, sent Tony to scour the globe for expensive treatments, but many were already turning Stephen down. To think that after all that Stephen’s done for modern medicine, no one could help him? Or maybe they just wouldn’t. Didn’t want to be responsible for destroying a neurosurgeon’s hands.

Though as Tony stared at his visibly shaking hand, at the angry pink lines that raced up and down each finger and joined at the back of his hand, he morbidly wondered if there was anything left to destroy. Even the act of straightening his fingers was a struggle, and they would always twitch back to a curled position. The idea of those hands, once so precise and steady, could even  _ hold _ a scalpel… For every shake that ran through Stephen’s hands, Tony’s own hope was waning.

Tony knew a dead end when he saw one.

“Have you contacted the Tokyo Metropolitan?” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Tony forced his eyes off of Stephen’s hands. That hardness was there, and Tony knew that their thoughts were in completely separate directions.

“Yes, the, uh, head surgeon agreed to-”

“When?”

Tony swallowed back the retort that was aching to be thrown back. Stephen may be direct with him, but now it was like he was just a… a nurse. An assistant. But that would pass, Tony hushed himself. As soon as they got on the road to recovery, Stephen would come back. He had to.

* * *

It was fair enough to say that Tony had seen Stephen in a hospital gown more than normal clothing in the last few weeks. As soon as a surgery would end and the bandages were off, Stephen was already contacting the next available option. They ran like clockwork, with Stephen off to Japan or to some far-away European hospital, then to Canada, then across the United States…

Tony would have to go days without word. Conversations were short and sweet, and the time between surgeries even more so. What was supposed to be Stephen’s recovery room was practically untouched, gathering dust and behind a locked door with Stephen halfway across the globe. But then there were the times where Stephen would be sent home, when the surgeons would deny him before he had a chance to go under the knife. It was in those times that Tony almost wished Stephen wouldn’t come back at all.

Stephen would seclude himself in the recovery room like he was right now, where machines were prepared for every move he would make. F.R.I.D.A.Y. oversaw the room, with T.A.D.A.S.H.I. on standby for immediate needs. The A.I. had been a little scrambled by the electric surge in the wreck, but it was better than nothing. It would recover the same as Stephen, or at least he would be if he wasn’t constantly opening his hands back up to whoever could hold a scalpel and promised results.

The room was not far from the shop, but still felt like miles. Inside his shop, the rest of the world faded away. He could think past his lover’s anger and frustration at something neither Tony nor Stephen could control, but finding someone else to blame was difficult. Yes, Stephen had always been a little rough and blunt, but never this  _ cold. _ All the warmth had been sucked away with each surgery, leaving less and less of Stephen.

The worst part was that Stephen was somehow getting  _ worse. _

The tremors that would run through his hands were now almost violent shaking at times, fingers stiff and unwilling to move. The pain would lead Stephen to taking medication around the clock, something Tony kept a wary eye on. The last thing he needed was his boyfriend dead of a drug overdose just because he kept ruining his hands with his idiotic choices.

But would Stephen listen to Tony? No, of course not.  _ He _ was the neurologist.  _ He _ was the expert, Stephen would tell him over and over in that cruel voice, only to whisk himself away to his next ill-fated operation.

Tony threw down his soldering gun into its holder and sank to the floor, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes so hard that he started seeing spots. Why, of all things that had to happen, did it have to be something like  _ this? _ If Tony could just get Stephen to stop, to look at other options… A low groan ripped from his throat and he threw his hands away from his eyes. The spots still clouded against the blistering white in his shop, but he focused his gaze back to the schematics floating in front of him.

Just keep working, he told himself. Things had to get better if he kept working. Stephen would have to come out of his self-pity at some point, past his bullheaded sense of pride. Once he did, everything would be set to the right course. He could get Stephen help,  _ real  _ help that a surgeon can’t give him. While Tony wasn’t exactly trained in neurology, his experience with machines was almost as good. He understood that once nerves were severed, that’s it. It’s done. You don’t come back from nerve damage, and if you do, it will never be the same.

_ “Boss, he’s awake.” _

Tony snapped back to himself, realizing that he had been laying across his cold floor for longer than was healthy. “Thanks, baby,” Tony sighed to his A.I, and pulled himself to his feet. One look at the time was enough to make him wince. He had spent too many hours holed up in his shop, but it never seemed to be enough. He knew the sight that would await him, just the same as always.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and gave himself a shake. Maybe it would be different. Stephen hadn’t been to an operation in several days, now. Almost a week. He could be on the verge of breaking through this weird cycle of grief. Was it anger? Bartering? Tony would have thought he’d know the stages by now, but the closer they got to acceptance, the sooner they can get back to their lives.

His bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor, more than enough time for Stephen to realize he was coming. All he did was knock against the door once, then it opened before him via F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s assistance.

_ “On a scale from one to ten, how is your pain?” _

“Enough,” Stephen rasped back at his A.I, the anger just at a low boil. It was still hard for him to lash out at such a kind and helpful voice, and Tony wondered momentarily if a real Baymax may be exactly what Stephen needed. Probably not, but Tony would take the excuse to flex his mechanical prowess.

The sight in the room was the same as always, Stephen curled to the edge of his bed if just to escape T.A.D.A.S.H.I.’s calm voice and assistance. As soon as Tony stepped into the room proper, though, Stephen flinched and buried himself in further. Tony couldn’t help but notice that his hands were nowhere in sight, tucked away from view.

“He’s not gonna stop until you take something, Stephie,” Tony chuckled, hoping that the smile on his face was enough to fool a partially drugged Stephen Strange. Judging by the glare that was sent to him, probably not. 

“You were precisely the one who told me to ‘wean’ myself off,” Stephen grunted, holding Tony’s gaze.

“Yeah, when you don’t just come out of surgery and medicate yourself so hard you can’t see straight.” There was a warning tucked in his voice, as much as he dared. Stephen did not appreciate such, if just by his tightening glare.

His partner shifted farther to the edge of the bed before he finally threw off the comforter. Tony could already see Stephen using his arm more than his hands, since they were still in a tight compress. They would need to be changed soon enough, and the stitching checked. Tony knew the drill at this point.

Stephen stood, and it took all Tony had to not wince. It had been a solid two months since the accident, and it showed on every inch of Stephen’s body. He had lost weight, no matter how much Tony tried to feed him. Without the use of his hands, making utensils out of the question, Stephen was practically on a liquid diet for however long it took for the surgeries to stop. His skin that had once been so perfectly pale now was bleached and sickly, and his skin clung much tighter to his bones than normal. His choice of clothing was down to simple shirts and sweatpants, but now wasn’t even bothering with the shirt. What use to be planes of sleek muscle and probably the most beautiful body Tony had ever seen was starting to fade.

Then there was what Tony was calling the ‘depression beard.’ On good days, as rare as they were, Stephen would allow Tony to shave it off. It didn’t take long, and it helped Stephen feel a bit more like himself. Then there were days where Stephen would stare at all the things his hands could no longer accomplish, everyday necessities like dressing and eating, and he would not leave whatever room he holed himself into. It was usually the bathroom, struggling with whatever task had set him off.

Yet there had not been a point to where Stephen broke. He would scowl and rage all he liked, but never broke. That just meant that it was just building beneath the surface, pushing against the boundaries and waiting to find that one moment of weakness. All Tony knew was that he needed to be there when it happened.

It wasn’t something  _ anyone _ should go through alone. Tony knew that as well as anyone. It was that moment that Tony was waiting for, to break down so they could pick up the pieces. Stephen just needed to lose his stubbornness and be human for once in his life.

“I’m taking a shower,” Stephen muttered, only for Tony to bite on his bottom lip.

“Nuh, uh. Stitching needs to stay dry. You get an infection, you’re gonna lose the hands.”

It was much more brutal than Tony had first intended, but he just needed to nudge Stephen closer to that realization. What he was doing was not fixing anything, especially himself. If he hadn’t gone through these idiotic surgeries in the first place, Stephen would be on the road to recovery and physical therapy. Sure, he would have to hang up the stethoscope, but at least he could  _ use his hands. _

Stephen had no answer for him, just stood beside the bed and staring across the room. The room had almost been baby-proofed for Stephens’ own protection. Everything was on a level surface, easy enough to grab. Spare wrappings were in the open, but there was nothing that Stephen couldn’t use. Like, say, anything sharp. There had been days that Stephen would scowl and say that the stitching was done wrong then try to snip it off and redo it himself.

There wasn’t much of a prize for those who guessed why that was a bad idea.

“C’mon,” Tony said, crossing the room to meet his boyfriend at the side of the bed. “Let me spoil you. You’ve been doing good. You promise not to get your hands wet and we can just soak in the bath together. How’s that sound?” Tony rain his fingers across the small of Stephen’s back, then he pressed his palm flat against it. Just enough to coax Stephen’s body into bumping against his own.

As he had so masterfully planned, a flush came to Stephen’s still majestic cheekbones and his eyes darted away from Tony’s face. It still somehow stunned Stephen how forward Tony would be sometimes, but honestly if Tony didn’t make the move, they’d be celebrating four year celibacy soon. The thought alone made him shudder.

While Tony was sure that there would be nothing more than a little bit of strategic scrubbing, it still brought a little life through his veins. What made them a roaring fire was when Stephen so graciously leaned down to meet his own lips, undyingly soft and with enough sweetness to make Tony a type two diabetic.

With a nudge, Tony led Stephen into the bathroom, where F.R.I.D.A.Y. was already being a darling and started the tub. Though the first snag was when Stephen’s hands went to the waist of his sweatpants, and the tremors made it near impossible to hook his fingers beneath. It visibly frustrated Stephen, and while Tony had been hoping for a breaking point, he knew this would only anger his partner.

“Hey,” Tony spoke up, only continuing when Stephen raised his head. “Use your palms. I do it all the time when I gotta do shit and my fingers are covered in shit.” Stephen’s stormy eyes sharpened, until Tony pressed the palms of his hands to his pants and demonstrated. Granted, he was wearing jeans so they didn’t budge, but it got the point across.

Still silent, Stephen focused his task on getting undressed and started coaxing the pants down with the palms of his hands. It took some work, and Tony caught the flinch of pain across his face, but it still resorted in a small victory. Now realizing that Tony himself was the only one undressed, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion and clumsily worked on the pants. He may have taken himself a bit more time to get the button off, if just for Stephen’s amusement at his own slippery fingers, but soon enough, Tony Stark was stark naked.

God, that pun was just as bad in his head as he expected.

Kicking off the last leg of the jeans, Tony shuffled past Stephen to the rapidly filling tub. “Keep your hands on the top, got it? I’ll take care of the rest,” Tony advised, throwing in a wink for good measure. The soft flush to Stephen’s cheeks was back, but that devilish smirk even more so. Breaking through the tension already.

Tony slipped into the tub first, once again pleased with his choice of the expansive tub, before he motioned for Stephen to come next. As he expected, Stephen was much slower to situate. Without being able to use his hands to support all of his weight, he practically fell into the tub, with his only cushion being Tony’s albeit smaller body.

“Phck-” Tony swore between his teeth, pressing his hands to Stephen’s back in any attempt to keep him upright and not drag Tony underwater.

“This was your dumbass idea!” Stephen shot back, but most of the edge to his words was self-directed. It made Tony hold his tongue the best he could as they squirmed in the tub, water splashing over the top until they gradually found some not-shit position.

Stephen had his back pressed to Tony’s chest and resting between his legs, almost fully submerged save for his hands. Those were thankfully still laying atop the lip of the tub, safe from the water below. The wraps hid the angry stitching beneath, but Tony had seen it enough times to have them burned into the back of his eyes.

Silence stretched between them, until Tony relented and grabbed the soap. “Where to first, my lord?” Tony drawled, performing his best snooty British accent. “Shall I cleanse your extremities? Your torso? Or perhaps somewhere in between?”

Stephen had enough pity in his heart to give Tony a snort of amusement, only for his eyes to flutter closed. “Anywhere. It’s been too long.”

Well, Tony wasn’t going to be the one to say it, but Stephen was right. His hair was greasy, the few bangs that always curled over his forehead now plastered to his skin. And he wasn’t going to say that he smelled  _ bad, _ just not pleasant.

Taking his cue, Tony started to run the sudsy loofa across Stephen’s body, starting first with his back. It would sometimes coax out a few sounds from Stephen, but Tony just ignored them, even when his body ached at the sounds. That wasn’t the purpose of this bath. It was just for Stephen to feel better, to finally relax. The loofa left suds in its wake, following Stephen’s arms just shy of the wrists, then back down. He was indeed thorough in his work, in a way that he doubted Stephen would allow anyone else to do so.

But the silence… Tony had to break the silence.

“You should give yourself a break,” 

murmured as he coaxed Stephen to scoot up against his chest.

He felt the rigidness in Stephen’s muscles, but he complied. HIs words, on the other hand, didn’t. “I’m so close to finding a way,” he sighed, eyes still closed and unwilling to come back to the present. Stephen seemed much more content to just drift off.

Tony’s hand paused as he ran the sponge across Stephen’s side, then slowed. “Manhattan denied the surgery,” he said, not really a question at all but more of a guess. His eyes were still focused on Stephen’s expression. His lip twitched at the corner.

“They’re unwilling to get their noses out of their dusty textbooks,” Stephen complained instead, leaning further into Tony’s chest. “Medicine is about exploration. There is a way, I just need to find it.”

Tony should have known better, but he pressed on. “You might not have much hand to work on when you do.”

That brought a flinch, and Stephen’s body tensed once more. The muscles didn’t unclench, even under Tony’s careful touch. The next words sounded like they were through gritted teeth. “Stem cell research, Anthony. The very same that would save your life from the arc reactor.”

His hand paused again, resting on the ridge of Stephen’s hip. The suds ran down Stephen’s alabaster skin, then disappeared into the rest of the water. “The arc reactor isn’t stopping me from doing what I want to do. Isn’t stopping me from  _ functioning.”  _

“My hands can recover, your body cannot without its removal.”

“Not if you-” Tony caught himself with a sharp intake, when Stephen’s eyes opened and fixed onto Tony’s face. There was no give, no sense of questioning his choices. Just the knowledge of Stephen continuing on with this self-destruction.

He pulled the loofa away and let it sink to the bottom of the tub. Maybe this was the time, to stop Stephen before he could destroy whatever was left of his hands, or even worse, their already tense relationship. This was just one more hurdle they would pass over, Tony told himself. They just needed to hurry the fuck up before it could do more damage to them.

“What if I could replace them?”

It was like the man in his arms had turned to stone. Maybe the realization had never come across Stephen’s mind before. Maybe it was only now dawning upon him the power Tony held, that he would give so freely.

When Stephen didn’t make a sound, Tony filled the silence. “I don’t have to cut off your hands. It’ll connect your nerves, like when you splice together a cable. It might not be the same, but you’ll be able to move them. You won’t be in pain, either. It’ll be the perfect prosthetic-”

In an instant, Stephen pushed himself out of Tony’s arms and was out of the tub, never once looking back at him. His shaking hand had already grabbed a towel off the hook, water dripping off his body in loud plops.

“Steph-” Tony gasped, struggling his own way out of the tub. By the time he got to his feet, Stephen had already left the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Not once caring to grab a towel to make himself decent, because this was his penthouse dammit, Tony opened the door, just catching Stephen’s retreating form out the door.

“F.R.I-” he started, only for the quiet voice to come back.

_ “Stephen is heading towards the lab, boss. Do I grant access?” _

_ “No!”  _ Tony snapped back, racing across the bedroom and rushing out into the hall. He nearly slipped twice, and thankfully caught himself both times before he could fully faceplant, but he caught up to Stephen at the other side of the hall. “Stephie, wait, hold on,” Tony called after him, and it was only once Stephen was pulling against the shop door that Stephen looked back up.

Once again slipping across the tile, he managed to slide to a stop a few feet away, stopped dead by Stephen’s glare. All the blood rushed out of his face at the sight, his eyes widening. Stephen’s eyes had transformed into a raging storm, lightning crackling within the grays as the only light within them.

“Destroy it,” Stephen growled, his voice dropping deep and quiet. Stephen didn’t have to raise his voice to get a point across. The only problem was that Tony wasn’t here to listen to it.

“Let’s just talk this through, okay? Look, it’s just an option. I just wanted to let you know-”   
  
“That’s what you’ve been doing this whole fucking time, wasn’t it? F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me it was classified. You and I both know that’s bullshit.” Stephen grabbed onto the handle of the door one more time, and even as it visibly trembled and strained with the effort and Stephen’s jaw tensed, he didn’t release it. “Destroy it.  _ Now.” _

Tony’s mouth only hung open, eyes still stretched wide. “I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to make sure we had a backup plan. Just in case the surgeries didn’t work. It isn’t just for you, you know I do these projects all the time. You know, for  _ medical _ uses?”

“There is nothing medical about turning people into cyborgs and machines when anything goes wrong. You know as well as I do that if it wasn’t for those  _ machines-” _

“Steph, stop,” Tony cut through, his gut already twisting with the endless possibilities of what Stephen would end his sentence with. When Stephen didn’t reply, just shut his mouth with a sharp click, Tony forced in a deep breath and felt it ache deep in his chest. “No one knows more about that than me. You know that.” Reaching up, Tony tapped at the arc reactor on his chest, surrounded by aging scars. “I know exactly what machines can do. But this is to help you.”

“Help me.”

The words were cold and brittle, sending another shiver down Tony’s spine. He swallowed and tried to straighten the words in his head before he dare say them aloud. “I want to help you, Stephen. These operations are just tearing your hands apart. They’re hurting you, and I can fix it. I can fix you.”

The words slipped past his lips before his brain even registered their existence, and it felt like the floor had fallen through beneath him. Throwing him down into a pit he won’t be able to crawl out of.

“...Fix me, huh?” Stephen breathed, his words so carefully composed that it sent the familiar daggers into his chest. “That’s all I am. Another project. What, you’re going to make me a suit, next? What if something else happens, going to replace that, too?”

“Of course not,” Tony retorted, unable to keep the edge from his voice. His brain was screaming at his mouth to stop, but the words just keep pouring out. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not a monster! I’m not some mad scientist!”   
  
“Then where does it stop?” Still so careful, so quiet, that his lips barely moved. All this time, his hand did not once separate from the doorhandle. Even as small beads of blood dampened the wraps, his grip only turned tighter. “Where’s the line, Anthony?”

Seconds of silence ticked away. They echoed in his head like a clock, another grueling second of time that Tony spent trying to find an answer. Some way to convince Stephen that this was just for his own good, for his health, for his job that he loved more than anything. Maybe more than Tony.

That thought stuck itself deep in his mind, the nagging sensation that he’d experienced for years. Tony refused to think of it now, only buried it once more. Ignore it, and it’ll go away. The problem will go away if he doesn’t see it.

The problem standing right in front of him, though, would not go away so easily. Stephen was still staring at him, gray eyes sharper than a scalpel, waiting. The problem was that Stephen wouldn’t understand. Refused to.

Tony swallowed down the sting of Stephen’s words and the panic that fluttered again in his chest. His thoughts were going too fast, flickering too quick for him to get a firm grasp. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, he really shouldn’t. He should have let Stephen walk away.

But he didn’t.

"These surgeries aren't doing jack shit, and you know that. Hell, Steph, you of all people should know that from day one! You said yourself no one can operate better than you, well tough shit, it's not gonna happen, and I'm not going to sit here and watch you piss whatever's left of your hands away."

Everything spilled out at once, those carefully avoided conversations just flooding out with no barrier in sight. Even as Stephen's eyes widened at his words, Tony couldn't stop.

"I'm trying to help you! Why do you trust all these experimental surgeries and not  _ me? _ I know you want to operate again, and this is the only way. You can't fix this with medicine. You need to  _ give up." _

There, he said it. The same words that cycled through over and over finally spilled out. Give up, Stephen. Give up.

"No."

It was sharp, it was quick, and it was defiant. Stephen wrenched his hand off the handle, leaving a sheen of the crimson handprint behind, before he abandoned the shop door. He walked smoothly, head still held high, and would not look Tony in the eye.

"I don't give up," Stephen sneered as he passed. "You already have, haven't you?"

Tony's jaw almost unhinged as he spun around, watching as Stephen walked away. He didn't so much as look back. Just kept walking.

But Tony wasn't done. He refused to let Stephen have the last word, to assume that Tony had given up on him. No, it was the exact opposite. He had to show Stephen that he would do  _ anything  _ for Stephen.

Anything.

Stephen had already walked back into the makeshift recovery ward by the time Tony started moving, and he looked inside just to see Stephen shambling with some clothes. His skin still glistened with bath water, but both of them knew that it would take too much dexterity to wipe it away. Would take too much dexterity for almost  _ anything.  _ Tony was about to show him why.

"Alright," Tony said, stepping into the room and letting the door slide shut behind him. "Prove it."

Stephen didn't even lift his head, instead pulling on a loose pair of sweatpants. "I don't have to prove anything to you, not anymore," Stephen scoffed back, pulling at the waistband straps. "I'm through."

"Uh huh. F.R.I.D.A.Y, turn off all automatic systems."

_ "Yes, boss," _ she quietly replied. At least someone still knew how to listen.

That caught Stephen's attention, and if judging by the slightly pale expression, he knew what was coming. He swallowed, bloodied fingers still wrapped around the bands. "You can't hold me here, Anthony," he warned, and Tony wasn't sure whether he should be offended or not by the slight fear in his eyes.

"Me?  _ I'm _ not holding you anywhere. Go on, get ready." Tony waved his hand towards the bathroom. "Brush your teeth, your hair, shave that animal off your face and you can go. Prove to me that you don't need any help and you're good. Won't bother you."

Stephen's teeth clicked as he gritted them, but to his credit, he let go of the straps and walked to the bathroom. Tony followed a few steps behind, his face neutral and calm. It would be a test to make sure it stayed that way.

"You're going to let me walk away," Stephen scorned, glancing at the bathroom counter. There was a comb, toothbrush and toothpaste, shaving cream and a simple non electric razor. "Not even going to beg me to stay, nothing."

"Oh, I'm not begging for anything. Just retracting my welcome. Go home, be free, all that shit. Don't let F.R.I.D.A.Y smack your ass on the way out." Tony crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, studying Stephen's shaking hands.

They hovered above the counter, trying to pick whichever poison suited his fancy. Stephen started with the comb, but moments after picking it up, it slipped from his shivering grasp. The sound of plastic rattling on the granite was like a gunshot. Tony did not move. Just waited.

Next was the toothpaste. With it's more flexible container, Stephen managed a good grip. The doctor was visibly fighting down his smirk of victory as much as he could, even more as his other hand wrapped around the toothbrush handle. That all stopped when Stephen squeezed the tube.

At first there was nothing. His small squeezes didn't coax a single drop out of the tube. So he dropped the tube and picked it up again, higher up. The same result. Tony knew that it wasn't quite fair since the tube was almost empty, yet he still watched in silence. Stephen had a grimace as he dropped and picked it up one more time, but the moment he pressed down-

_ Splurt. _

Toothpaste roped across the countertop, missing the toothbrush entirely. The stripes of white and red paste smeared when he dropped the tube and brush completely, giving up on that task as well. There was one more boundary, though. One Tony hoped he wouldn't try at all.

But he did. And Tony watched as Stephen struggled with the can of shaving cream, watched when it sprayed across the already dirtied counter, and watched his shaking hands scoop it up. Half of the foam slipped out between his fingers before it met his face, but Tony couldn't see. Stephen had his back completely to him, hiding from the mirror by ducking his head down.

He scooped and scooped, spreading the foam across his face while his hands fought against every motion. With hands still covered in the white substance, he fumbled with the razor. Tony swallowed down the urge to stop him. All he could do was wait, he reminded himself. It won't be long.

Not a sound came from Stephen, not as his shaking and pained hands dropped the razor two different times into the sink. It was only on the third try that Tony saw the razor raising to his face in one hand, the other pressed to the counter. His long, slender fingers were curled around the edge, even as the angry stitching wept out beads of blood at the force. They only clenched tighter, then tighter.

Then a drop of blood fell onto the back of his hand.

Tony stiffened, staring at the drop that mingled with the cream, toothpaste and stitching. Then came the next drop. And the next.

"Stephen," Tony forced out, pushing his shoulders off of the wall. Stephen didn't make a sound. A fourth drop stained the countertop.

It was then that Tony looked up and caught Stephen's reflection.

Streaks of red were bleeding through the shaving cream as Stephen raked the razor through the mess again. His pale blue eyes, always so hard and determined, were locked with his reflection, completely blank and glassy. He only lifted the razor again and dragged it back down, spilling more drops of blood onto the growing mess.

"Stephen, stop," Tony commanded, but his voice fell flat. Stephen wasn't even looking at him. Just stared at his face, stared at the blood, stared at his hand shuddering with the effort to hold the razor. They only shook that much harder

"I said stop!"

Tony rushed forward, grabbing Stephen by the wrist and yanking his hand away from his face. The razor, held so tightly in his fist, finally slipped out and rattled into the sink. It left his hand open and his fingers twitching, stitches bleeding, and shaking so hard that Tony had to wrap his other hand around it in the desperate attempt to make them stop.

Stephen still wouldn't look at him. Just stared at his reflection, at his blood, and then the tears started to slip down his cheeks. They came slow, carving their own path through foam and blood, and it was near silent. Tony couldn't even hear him breathe. Maybe he wasn't.

With one hand still grasping Stephen's, Tony finally reached out and pressed his palm to his cheek. He turned his head by force, and their eyes met.

"...Stop."

Tony pinpointed the exact moment that Stephen broke, when everything collapsed at once. He almost fell to the hard tile floor had it not been for Tony grabbing him. They sank slowly, Stephen's head pushed into the crook of his neck, a mixture of cream, blood and tears pasting onto his still-wet skin.

He didn't expect it to be so quiet, though. Stephen just huddled on his knees, shaking, tears dripping free. Tony finally let go of Stephen's hand to run his fingers into his hair, the other arm winding around his back. He held him, squeezed him, and let Stephen give himself up.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered those sinful words again, knowing fully well that Stephen will not believe him. But it was, Tony would make it okay.

Tony pressed his lips to Stephen's temple, just for a moment, before he murmured, "F.R.I.D.A.Y."

_ "Yes, boss?" _

"Make the call."

_ "Are you sure?" _

Tony stiffened, his arms hooking tighter. This was the only way, he told himself. "I'm sure. Call him. We'll do it now."

His A.I. didn't reply, she didn't need to. All Tony needed was for Stephen to finally be alright. Now that Stephen had given in, finally given up, Tony could pick up his pieces and rebuild.

This was the only way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O hey this chapter was published at 30,000 feet. Mile high club?


End file.
